Mind Games
by Gabs
Summary: Having surrendered to the CIA, Irina thinks about her daughter.


Mind Games

By Gabs

DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, but you probably knew that already. This was just a little idea that kinda popped into my head… It's from Irina's PoV. It was also one of my first efforts at Alias fanfic.

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I'm sitting here, in this highly uncomfortable chair, at this impossibly unfriendly CIA building, pointedly ignoring the agent who is trying to question me about The Bible. We've been sitting in this boring room for almost two hours, I'd presume. It is then that the door opens and some other insignificant agent comes in and leans over to share some amazing secret with my questioner. The interruption then makes himself scarce.

My interviewer gives me a look- an 'I know something you don't know, but probably want to' kind of look. He's right, of course- whatever it is, I do want to know, because I'm sure it's about Sydney. He tries to toy with me, merely smiling before turning his attention to the files in front of him. He seems to have forgotten something- I don't need to play their games, but if they want what I know, they do have to play mine. So I simply glare at him. He looks up, catching my eye, and quickly, nervously, looks away.

"Agent Bristow is back from her mission to New Zealand." He says nothing else, and there is absolute silence for the next five minutes. "The mission was a success." I nod, figuring- correctly- that some display of interest will goad him into continuing. "She retrieved the records and the extraction went off without a hitch." Evidently assuming that I still won't talk to him- which, by the way, is absolutely right- he stands up and signals the guards to take me back to my cell.

"Is she ok?" I ask quietly. He is obviously surprised, and almost doesn't seem to hear me. My nerves are set on edge as he doesn't answer, only nervously glances away and calls for the guards again.

I have to see her for myself. I need to know that my daughter is ok. But I'm not about to let this idiot see any emotion.

"Tell Sydney to come see me when she feels up to it. I have a good idea of where she should go next." He nods and hurries away. The guards escort me back and leave me in silence. I'm not about to admit this to anyone- not even Sydney- but I do worry about her. I haven't exactly done the best job of showing it these past few weeks. I shot her, I scared her half to death holding a gun on her again, and I know she thinks I'm just playing mind games with her now.

I shot my own child.

Looking back on that, I do feel guilty. When I asked her how her shoulder was, the look on her face… I can't describe it. I'm almost relieved that she hasn't asked why I did that to her. I know I wouldn't be able to provide a good answer. My thoughts are interrupted when I hear soft footsteps approaching.

I turn to see Sydney, and, if the green streaked hair, barely there halter, and slinky skirt are any indication, she came straight from the mission. But two things immediately jump out at me, even more so than the outfit- a very distinctive limp, and a rather large bandage above her left eye. Judging by the deep crimson hue that easily shows through it, she lost a fair amount of blood. As she gets closer, other things become obvious: a bruise along her jawline, a very faint one on her right cheek, a cut on her right hand. She also has her arm wrapped gently around her ribs, and I can see red marks on her throat. Frowning, I walk to the dividing window so I can see her better. She looks up at me, and I can see how tired she is. Finally, I speak.

"They said it was a success." She shrugs lightly.

"I got the files. I'm alive. So yes, it was." My frown deepens.

"You look- and move- like you've been thrown off a cliff." Her jaw twitches slightly, but there is no other sign of emotion.

"I was told you have something else for me. Are you going to give me some useful into, or should I just go home? I can always chit chat with Will, and it will be a lot more enjoyable for me." I can see a little bit of white on her left shoulder, sticking out from under the shirt.

"Kevin Copeland. Toronto." She writes this down.

"Why? What does he have?" I think for a minute, deciding how much to tell her.

"Sloane will be after him, not for what he has, but for what he knows." She makes a few more notes and looks back at me.

"Is that everything?" I nod. She turns to leave, but hesitates.

"Thanks." She heads for the guards.

"Take care of that eye, Sydney." She pauses, but doesn't acknowledge me. I watch her leave until she is out of sight.

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End file.
